


Uramaki

by Mayth



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Domestic Violence, Dorks in Love, Fluff and Angst, High School, Idiots in Love, M/M, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Unofficial Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:15:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24755380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayth/pseuds/Mayth
Summary: Rebuilding what they've lost isn't going to be easy. Then again, what if they find something they never had through a shared uramaki?Aomine and Kise after the events of Kuroko no Basket.
Relationships: Aomine Daiki/Kise Ryouta
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Honestly I still don't know if this fandom is still alive or dead, however I have re-watched KnB in these quarantine days and dusted off old ideas. But first of all I want to clarify that this is the translation of the fanfiction that I am writing in italian (you can find it on the famous Italian ff site) and therefore I am not a native English speaker. Having said that, happy reading!

The air in the locker room was stuffy. The room smelled of the classic scent of sweat mixed with the chemical aroma of disinfectant and anti-inflammatory creams. The walls gave the feeling of enclosing a cramped area. The orange halo emanating from the neon lights on the ceiling only accentuated the suffocating atmosphere, further underlined by the sinister shadows cast on the peeling surface of the lockers.

Kise sat on a bench with a curved back and a towel on the back of his neck. He was staring at his left knee, which went up and down and up and down again, to the rhythm of his frustration, while his right leg was struck by flashes of pain like poisonous fires.

The buzzing of distant voices reached his ears muffled. Everything but himself was a foggy patina for which he felt the most intense and inflexible disinterest - the deepest motions in his mind concentrated in two agreed directions: one towards a disdainful anger - _he could have done more, he had been weak, too weak_ \- and the other towards an awareness that broke all his chimeras, leaving him without illusions and at the mercy of a vast bitterness. 

Disappointment was a pin prick in his eyelids and threatened to release a flooding river. For he had believed he could do it; he had thought that, yes, this time it would be _his_ time. And instead the pain in his ankle, which had later spread all over his leg, had come at the worst moment, when he was trying to jump and perform a spectacular alley-oop, and on the contrary he hadn’t be able to do it, his heart tight in his throat and ready to spurt out while the ball fell to the ground and rolled off the field under the bashful gaze of his opponents and his own teammates. 

He hadn't been able to do anything else. Only to limp out of the gym with his head down, incapable and too coward to look the others in their face and admit his defeat.

The first hiccup came rushing out like a bubble burst in his chest.

Others followed, accompanied by tears that crossed the fallen barriers of his will to resist. Each one of them was interspersed with breaths of air that he really couldn't take. Among the spasms, he knew it wasn't physical pain. It was shame. The shame that ran down his cheeks and that even exhaustion wouldn't be able to erase it.

 _Now_ _I'll_ _stop_ , he whispered to himself, and then he started again even louder, led by a thunderous roar from the center of his chest. He could feel his stomach upside down - but he would't vomit - and his throat burned and a pounding pain echoed in his head.

He couldn't quantify how long he stood there, his whole body shaking with tears, feeling sorry for himself, until he heard a click behind him and realized that the halftime break had to be started. A hiss trapped between his tight lips escaped him despite the effort to contain himself. He quickly brought his arm to his face and tried to wipe away the tears. Finally, crouching the towel even more over his face to protect himself at least from the mortification of showing his reddened eyes and runny nose, he surrendered to turn around and find out who had entered.

He had expected everyone. But he certainly hadn't thought he would meet Aomine's gaze halfway - to see him leaning against the door, his hands usually tucked into his shorts pockets, staring at him with dark eyes.

A shiver crept under his skin and ran down his back.

He was frozen, not breathing, until the need for air forced the ring of his throat contracted and the whirlpool through his larynx emitted a terrible, choked sound, of which he was immediately ashamed. When Aomine broke away from his position and made a forward movement, his body hardened like his fists resting on his legs. Aomine stopped halfway with one leg still stretched forward, uncertain of the step to take or not to take.

"What's going on?" he asked quietly, with an indifference that only he couldn't make seem apathy. 

He knew that the vague, cautious question already knew the answer and was rather an invitation to talk about it, but he still took the opportunity to lie, even in the face of the evidence of his painful state.

"I'm fine." 

He even tried to smile, but it was muffled by a sharp pain. 

"It must have been the okonomiyaki at lunch, I never digest them." He tried to pull himself together, he tried to pull up his nose slowly, very slowly, so that it wouldn't be noticeable as he tried to relax his shriveled chin - but all that composure just accentuated the symptoms now visible on his face. And the lies could do nothing in front of his twisted face, not when flaming bullets kept exploding in his ankle. 

"Bullshit," commented Aomine as he pulled his fists out of his pockets. "I'm not that patient, Kise." 

The almost threat rumbled through the bare walls of the dressing room and some of that tremor spread to the cavity under Kise's sternum, which he now felt deserted because his heart must have been catapulted down his throat and from there he could hear it beating in his ears. He squeezed his right knee in a vice, trying to relieve the pain pulse. This gesture, however, had the only consequence of directing Aomine's eyes on his injured leg. 

"You have to get it checked," he said.

Kise threw a provocative look at him. The pain had a hammering rhythm, but at least it had an anaesthetic effect on his mind. 

"Aominecchi, would you do me a favour? Stop worrying. Momocchi's role as a hen doesn't suit someone like you." And at some other time he might have even add a laugh of mockery. 

"You know your face gets all wrinkled when you want to be cruel? It's hideous."

"You're ruthless," he replied bitterly. Then he continued, indifferent and at the same time irritated, staring at him with eyes as sharp as knives. "If you have so much time to waste, you should concentrate on something else. Just because we're teammates doesn't mean you can take all these liberties."

"I'm tired of you, Kise. Of your bullshit." The answer was dry and violent, vibrated like a fist, or at least that was the effect because he faltered even while sitting down. 

"Then why are you still here?" he said. 

He didn't really want to ask that.

He felt a warmth pouring over his cheeks. The sound of their breaths was accompanied by a constant hum, perhaps the cooling system that had been turned on for the summer heat. The time seemed to be drowning just like him. 

But the next moment, like something that had been thrown at him, Aomine's hand grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it between his fingers. Kise moved away brusquely, escaping the touch that seemed to have pierced his flesh like a thousand pins. He had not done it deliberately, but he had risen quickly from the bench, driven by the instinct of not letting anyone near him, _too_ _quickly_ , for a wave of dizziness splashed his sight of dark spots, and his ankle threw such a sharp pain that it dampened his breath. And yet the embarrassment burned more strongly.

He was grateful that he had not let any groans of pain escape and that he kept his eyes low, without having to make the obvious effort to avoid the investigation of Aomine's gaze, in which he would have read only tacit pity. Just the idea of Aomine, of all people, feeling pity for him, made his insides twist.

"Shut up, you idiot," he heard Aomine say. He heard the snap of Aomine's lips when he deliberately slowly uttered the word idiot. And though he refused to look at him, he imagined him with his shoulders bowed like a bow, ready to turn around and leave him there alone with his squalor. But all he said was, "You're really unbearable."

In hindsight, dwelling on what had happened, he would have granted Aomine predictability. It didn't all happen in a flash, even though it seemed like it.

Kise was struggling to stand, his balance was already shaky, so it wasn’t necessary to use any particular force to push him against the lockers. All Aomine had to do was snap forward and he stumbled backwards. He hit his head against the metal surface, his mouth open in a dumb jerk, more because of the surprise than the blow. The towel slipped off his shoulders and fell to the ground, forgotten.

The shock of panic at the first moment turned to amazement when he realized what was happening: Kise had been caught between the wall behind him and the body of Aomine, who had placed his hands beside his head. Between those few inches that separated them he felt something like electrical energy, which spread in a few seconds from the tip of his hair to the last nail, the intensity of it resembling that of a defibrillator that accelerated his heart to the point of making him believe - indeed, he was convinced - that his heartbeat could be heard outside the ribcage. It was an almost alienating situation - he was the one who imprisoned the girls on the wall to kiss them... Not that they were thinking of... 

That same reflection passed like a spark in Aomine's eyes. 

An expression of astonishment was painted on his face dazzled with wonder. Kise was sure he was making the same grimace. They were both petrified with terror because of that rash of madness, that absurd thought that neither of them had the courage to formulate concretely even in their own heads, that feeling that something was about to happen from which they would never be able to come back and that perhaps it was better to give up, but the fear was not as strong as the desire and certainty that it would happen anyway. 

Someone had clicked the pause button. And they found themselves suspended in a bubble that erased the where, the when - there was only a parallel instant in which they had been transported. 

Disbelief was reflected in their pupils. Like fear and the intention to pull back and break whatever it was. But there was also another desire, a primordial idea. That same instinct must have lapped Aomine's mind, because one blink of an eye later the distance between their lips became shorter. 

It was neither polite nor submissive; it was, he hypothesized, almost animalistic. 

They were clumsy in the middle between a kiss and the purpose of a bite. Aomine's whole body pushed forward, crushing him against the metal of the squeaking cabinets.   
His hands had moved forward to tighten Aomine's waist and even that contact lifted every hair at the base of his neck. Whatever came into their minds to say died between the folds of their lips as they met. But Kise didn't want to push him away or, if he wanted to, he wasn't thinking about it now because he felt his body arching, shaping itself like clay in the shape of Aomine's, and at the base of his stomach he felt fireworks. 

Aomine kissed the way he played basketball. 

On impulse. Passionately. 

With the lips that tickled like a caress and the tongue that prevailed and overcame every (weak) defense. They were repeating one of their one on one, but the theater was his mouth this time.

One of Aomine's hands went to rest on the beginning of his neck, the cold caused by the previous contact with metal made him shiver. He passed his tongue over Aomine’s lower lip and the other one reciprocated by taking his tongue between his teeth, and then started attacking the inside of his mouth again. 

They were moving perfectly in sync, again guided by an incomparable consonance. They detached at the same time to swallow an air clot and then exchanged it by reconnecting. 

He suffered a sore jaw, but he ignored it because Aomine's tongue drew all his attention and seemed intent, with every aim, to pull away every moan of pain that was hidden at the bottom of his throat. 

Kise meowed quietly the moment Aomine's leg moved and thrust itself on his inner thigh. They did not rub, but the contact and possibility was pure brain sugar.

Kise's hands had just begun to move, demanding to lift the shirt of the uniform to be able to touch Aomine’s skin, more and more skin, when a high-pitched sound pierced the torpor of their minds.   
  
_"The ten-minute break is over. We ask the audience to take a seat. The match will resume shortly."_

The announcer's voice was like a bucket of frozen water. Or rather, it was the voice of awareness that brought repentance lurking under the motion of excitement. They detached themselves from each other, scalded at all the points where the part of their bodies seemed to cross their barriers and mix with each other's flesh. 

The last of their link was the trajectory of their glances and, if possible, it seemed that the distance they had just created was bleeding. 

It was over. 

Fast as a gust of wind. 

The bubble had burst and they were thrown into reality. Anguish took possession of his chest, his legs - both of them - trembled, the ceiling took the place of Aomine's face and that was all he saw as he listened to Aomine’s footsteps reach the exit, the handle lowered with the acoustic effect of the operated lock rumbling through the walls, and the door closed, leaving behind itself a redundant silence.

*

_Two months earlier_

  
Perhaps because he was not very hungry that evening, perhaps because after days of rain the clouds had finally cleared and it was pleasant to look distractedly at the cherry blossoms driven by a pleasant breeze, Kise decided to walk the road in slow steps, looking first at one building, then at the other, watching how the sunset inflamed its contours.

He knew the route by heart and his body pushed him almost mechanically along the sidewalk, past a department store full of people and just beyond a curry bread truck. A few meters away from him, in a secondary alley framed between two large electronics stores, a huge yellow " _M_ " was flashing. In and out of the place there were all sorts of people - from mothers holding their babies in their arms to businessmen still in their work clothes. Kise slipped through the crowd and slipped to the sliding glass doors. As soon as he entered he looked around and saw his friends crammed around a table at the end of the room, far from the noise of a group of apparently uncontrollable children.

"Good morning." He was cordially greeted by a petite girl showing off her most lovable smile, inviting him to go to the counter in the middle of the room where three or four people flew between one customer and another to complete orders, careful not to lose the funny little hat they wore on their heads with the Maji Burger inscription. 

When his tray was filled with food, Kise finally reached his old group of middle school friends. During his brief review he hadn't noticed who, apart from the figure of Momoi who was waving to get noticed, had arrived before him at the randez-vous: Aomine and Momoi sat opposite each other and next to her, in half-light and hidden from the view of the entrance, Kuroko was sipping a fizzy drink. Midorima, Akashi and Murasakibara seemed to not be there. 

"Ki-chan!" Momoi greeted him.

Kise frowned and with a sigh took his place next to Aomine, who, impassive, addressed him with a soft "Yo." Kuroko, on the other hand, with his usual nerve-racking kindness, uttered a simple "Good evening."

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that way, Momocchi," he complained once again in front of that unbearable childish epithet. 

And she, as usual, proceeded to ignore his request. "Ki-chan is Ki-chan," she shrugged, ending the exchange. 

Kise then looked at the other two boys, whose expressions alone would be worth the decision to turn around and spend the evening in a more constructive way. Aomine sat in his plastic chair, his knee slipping into Kise's side and his torso bent over the table - his indolent gaze showed nothing but boredom, like someone who had just been thrown out of bed and forced to get dressed; as for Kuroko, Kise could not say that he looked different from every time you looked at his face. His vacuous eyes combined perfectly with the inexpressiveness of his face. 

Had it not been for Momoi's exuberance and happiness, they would have looked like three strangers who happened to be at a table together.

"First it was just Tetsu, then Dai-chan and I came. The fact that I managed to drag Dai-chan here before Midorin is surprising!" Momoi said, breaking his line of thought.

At her side, Aomine sighed. "We could have taken it easy." 

"You have no idea how long it took me to get him out of bed." Momoi replied with a stern ugh the moment she saw him turn his eyes to the ceiling. 

"Better this than spending a Sunday night at home," Kise agreed, and used a tone so cordial as to seem true, though Aomine still turned in his direction and stared at him with an eyebrow raised. Kise’s mouth turned into a half smile, the one who admitted that he had been caught saying something and thinking something else. 

"I am happy for the invitation,” said Kuroko, who was immediately trapped in Momoi's arms, who held him almost suffocating him.

Together they really made a strange group and maybe - but he would never have said it out loud - he admitted to himself that he had missed spending the evenings like that. 

Around them there were men and women, especially young teenagers, who came in and out of his sight, all laughing, chatting and making a big racket. The Maji Burger had never been so crowded - three or four years ago, when it started opening its first branches in Tokyo, the only ones who knew its name were only the schoolchildren based nearby; instead, now, it had been so succesful that it had acquired the same number of customers as any other fast food restaurant. The atmosphere had certainly changed since the Teikou era.

His former schoolmates, perhaps taking up a thread of a conversation that he had broken when he arrived, began to remember the middle school years and the afternoons spent in the gym, perpetually with a basketball in hand and always in conflict with the volleyball club for training hours. Momoi took every excuse to attack Kuroko like a leech, who with little breath in his body protested a slight "I can't breathe". Aomine looked at them sideways, revealing a veil of irritation in front of that sugary little scene.

They had done well to reconnect, although there was still a patina of embarrassment and uncertainty between them, still insecure and dazed by the lesson they had received. Thinking about it, they had only used excuses to get together, it still seemed too strange to consider themselves a united group of friends.

Kise wrinkled his eyes with the back of his hand. He checked the time on the cell phone: Akashi had asked them to meet to discuss "something interesting", but he was nowhere to be seen. Akashi's cryptic message had been haunting him all day. It was still unclear what kind of relationship they were in at the time, especially when they had met a few weeks earlier during the game against Jabberwock. In fact, he had believed that he wouldn't see them again for quite some time. Instead, at the beginning of the school year, he was finding himself sharing a table with his old middle school friends again.

Curiosity was itching in his chest.

Just as Momoi and Aomine were engaging in a close discussion on topics beyond his interest, the sliding front doors opened. Kise clearly saw the unmistakable and enormous figure of Murasakibara towering over the entire room. 

"That's them," Kuroko said.

Kise took a closer look and actually noticed Akashi and Midorima hidden in the shadow of Murasakibara. 

Everyone followed them with their eyes and waited for them to arrive at the table. There was something strange in the air, like a kind of deja vu. Midorima was the first to reach them, holding a tray with one hand and a small tanuki carved in wood with the other. Kise greeted him, while Aomine and Kuroko turned their heads and welcomed him without any particular momentum - well, Kuroko could be thought to be cheerful, but Aomine nodded to him with an enthusiasm that, even if it was there, was certainly well hidden.

Midorima skipped the pleasantries and gave everyone a sideways glance. Kise followed him with his eyes as he pulled back a chair from the back and sat next to Momoi. 

A few seconds later, Mirasakibara and Akashi also arrived. 

Now they were all sitting at the same table. The generation of miracles reunited again. Just thinking of that nickname made him make a face. It was starting to get tight. Everyone stared at Akashi, who was affable as usual and smiled at them. 

"I'm glad we could all meet here," he said interrupting the strange silence that had spread. "You must be wondering why I made you come."

"Yeah," complained Murasakibara between a chip and a bite of his burger. "I came all this way and I still don't know why."

"You're right," smiled Akashi. "It's a strange feeling, isn't it?"

"Get to the point, Akashi," Midorima interrupted.

It seemed to have put an old CD in a replica and to watch one of those amateur films that were so fashionable ten years before, already sure to remember every line, every movement by heart, however ending up surprised that everything went as he remembered it.

Kise adjusted himself better on the chair when Akashi bent over to his shoulder bag and after rummaging for a while pulled out a small sheet the size of a flyer. In fact, stretching forward to see better, he noticed it was a flyer of an event. 

"National... tournement of..." read Momoi trying to decipher the writing backwards from the opposite side of the table. "Street basketball?"

It was like a flash of lightning suddenly woke them all up. The flyer passed from hand to hand and even Aomine read it with interest, even though he had been distracted by his burger until then. Kise was the last one to have it. The tournament was to take place at the beginning of June, the registration had to be done online and all the news about the matches would be on the dedicated website. A cash prize was at stake. 

"Everyone from the age of fifteen can participate and the matches will always be held on weekends. It won't just be high school opponents."

Kise carefully placed the flyer on the table and exclaimed, "Do you want us to participate as a team?"

"Of course it's not that simple," replied Akashi, raising an eyebrow. "You have to ask permission from your institutes and we should find a way to meet despite the distance. But it would be fun, wouldn't it?"

Kise turned around in search of everyone else's faces to make sure he wasn't the only one with an uncertain expression printed on his face. Kuroko, of all people, seemed the most surprised. It had been him, weeks before, who had asked everyone to get together and play against the Jabberwocks, but even then there was an underlying reason for them to accept. The way Kasamatsu had been treated... Kise couldn't stand it. Now, however... Were they ever really a team?

"Of course I'm not asking you to give me an answer now," Akashi continued, unwrapping his sandwich. "I just found it interesting to share this news with you."

Kise, whose gaze had been lost in the left corner of the table, saw Kuroko smiling and then whispering, "That would be fun..."

"And we'd also need a manager," Akashi added, turning towards Momoi. 

"Uh, really? Me?" she was surprised when she realized she'd been added to the team. 

"But of course, where would we go without Momocchi?"

So saying, the tension seemed to have eased and the enthusiastic chatter that followed set aside the street basketball issue for the time being. Only marginally he found himself thinking about all the things that couldn’t go well, but he chased them away, adding himself instead to the excited laughter of the others. 

_Could they really for once be friends?..._

*

"We'd better go," Midorima said, taking his jacket off the back of the chair. Kise looked at his cell phone – they’d been chatting for a good forty-five minutes, a record. He grabbed his wallet on the table and followed the others to the exit. The crisp evening air hit him in the face and tickled his bare neck. The sunset had given way to a cool evening, a wasp breeze froze the tip of his nose and a few clumps lifted from his forehead.

The crowd at the end of the day had dispersed, now the road was less busy and only here and there could be glimpsed couples holding each other's arms or groups of friends stopping on the sidewalk.

"We’ll be in touch," said Akashi. He and Murasakibara had to take the train at the station. 

Along with them, Kuroko and Midorima too, who geographically speaking were the two who lived closest to each other. 

Kise greeted them in an uncertain tone. He stared at them as they walked together towards south Tokyo, a grave silence already present in the space that separated them. Kuroko and Midorima had never had anything in common except basketball. And on that too Kise was certain that they wouldn’t be able to build up any conversation without resulting in an argument.

Momoi must have had the same thoughts, because a moment later she exclaimed: "I'm going home with Tetsu! Dai-chan, this time you'll go home alone." And before Aomine could shout " _Oi, Satsuki!_ " she had already disappeared around the corner, probably already clinging to Kuroko. 

"The crush on Kurokocchi never went away, eh?" Kise noticed. He had to give Momoi the virtue of perseverance. 

At his side Aomine puffed irritated. "I can't stand her when she does that." He turned to the other side and started walking towards the subway, sticking his hands in the sleeveless jacket pockets. 

Kise ran after him. 

"Does what?" he asked.

In response Aomine confusedly waved a hand in the air, as if to mimic all those effusions and strange behaviors that Momoi seemed to have in the presence of Kuroko.

"She takes forever to choose what to wear, it makes no sense..." He made a nasal sound, like a grunt, which in his language meant annoyance. 

"That's what people do to try to look interesting to those they like," Kise said, carrying a hand behind the back of his head to fix his wind-battered hair. 

"That's bullshit," he commented seriously. Then, slowly, without really wanting to be heard, Aomine added, "She doesn't need all that stuff to look interesting. She already is."

Kise pretended not to hear, though he smiled anyway. They turned right, where the signs now illuminated the grey cement. The street was empty and Kise could only hear the sound of their footsteps and a few lonely sparrows lurking in some tree in the avenue.

"So what are you going to do, Aominecchi?” He meant the street basketball tournament. Or rather, he alluded to the proposal to rebuild a team that perhaps never really existed. In a way, as much as the idea appealed to him, accepting seemed to him like doing wrong to the Kaijou team. He didn't know how to explain it concretely, it was just a strange feeling that at first had prevented him from being particularly enthusiastic.

"Back on team with you? What a nuisance."

Kise simulated a disdainful cry while Aomine pushed his head to the side, as he often did in Teikou's day to show him he was joking. A short fight broke out between them, which ended as quickly as it began, leaving behind only a mumbling without hostility.

"I don't know," Aomine finally admitted. He crossed both arms behind his head and contracted his muscles to stretch out. "If there are opponents like the Jabberwock..." 

Kise saw him kicking a pebble with the tip of his shoe, eyes fixed on that spot, a smile on his face. Kise squinted a little dazed. When he sees him like that, it’s like being catapulted back years. It’s the same expression he had in seventh grade. 

"If I want to go to America, I can't miss these opportunities," he continued.

"Eh, America?"

"Of course, to get into the NBA."

"You're going to be in the _NBA_? _When_?"

"I don't know, but definitely soon."

Kise wrinkled his forehead. Now he doubted it would happen _so_ soon.

"Shouldn't we concentrate on beating Kurokocchi and Kagamicchi?" he said instead. 

"You idiot, I won't lose a second time."

Now they had reached the downhill stairs to the subway. They both took their badges out of their pockets to get through the turnstiles and took the steps. The corridor was badly lit and someone had painted some brightly colored graffiti on the walls. Kise watched them distractedly as they walked past. When they were in middle school, he, Aomine and Momoi often took a stretch of road together. It hadn't happened since the last year because Aomine hadn't shown up at the gym. But now they were doing the same route side by side. It felt bizarre. Like all the changes in the new year, to be honest.

"So we'll all see each other more often," he said more to himself than as a conversation stimulus. Aomine gave him a lazy look. "Isn't that strange to you, Aominecchi?"

Aomine produced a vague nod of consent. They remained silent for a while. The large electronic device hanging on the wall indicated that there was a minute and a half until the next train arrived. Aomine would take that one, while he would wait another minute and get on the next. He didn't really know why, but he found himself melancholy at the idea of going home. 

"Do you remember," he suddenly burst out just as the subway brakes were rubbing against the tracks in the distance. "That we used to do this every day?"

Aomine gave him yet another look that Kise couldn't decipher. Meanwhile the subway had arrived, the usual robotic voice began to speak – _please mind the gab between the train and the platform; next stop..._ \- and the passengers who passed through the automatic doors created a river that divided them in two. When the last person came out of the subway, Aomine turned to him, scratched the inside of his ear with the little finger of his right hand and just before the doors closed, he said, "Yes. And nothing has changed. You're still the same old pain in the ass."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not relying on the anime ending, but rather on the manga ending - the only difference is that Kagami doesn't leave for America but ends his high school years in Japan. So with the NBA thing I repeated what basically is a dialogue that happened in the film but not in the manga, because I basically need it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm so sorry for my english.

"You're cheating," Momoi exclaimed before throwing the joystick she had in her hands on the couch behind her, which at the moment was her backrest as she sat on the floor with her legs stretched out, looking grimly at the TV screen. 

A noise of whistling and shouting spread throughout the living room and a male and mechanical voice announced the end of the virtual basketball game. On the monitor the various characters of the video game moved confusedly while in the foreground there was the ranking of shots, lost balls and intercepted passes. At the top right of the screen a huge sign announced the victory of the Cleveland Cavaliers. To be precise, the Cleveland Cavaliers' fourth win in a row. 

Aomine sat at her side, legs crossed and palms open on the floor behind himself, his joystick balanced on one knee. 

"I didn't cheat," he said, leaning his head back and looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "You're the one who sucks." 

"You must know some trick you're not telling me," she continued undaunted, as if she hadn't even heard him. "Knowing how to play basketball has nothing to do with video games." 

He opened his lips to clarify how much coordination was equally fundamental, even if it was only the thumbs that moved, but then he changed his mind. 

"The only one who can beat me is me," he said in an ironic tone, preparing himself for the thrust that Momoi gave him half a second later, followed by a pseudo jump that landed on his side and planted him on the ground. He let himself be overpowered while she shoved him down and said, "You're an idiot, Dai-chan!" 

Momoi punched him in the shoulder and then stood up, just in time to hear the front door open and from the hallway hearing the clangour of a bunch of keys placed on a table. 

"It must be my parents," Momoi said. 

They turned in unison to look at the wall clock behind them, only realizing by then that it was already 7:00 p.m. and they had spent the entire afternoon eating junk food and playing without even noticing. Aomine lifted himself off the floor and retrieved the two joysticks to put them on their console next to the TV, which he turned off immediately afterwards. In the meantime, Momoi had collected the packets of chips and the snack wrappers they'd been eating and was putting them away on the shelf in the kitchen. She was just in time to toss the garbage from the entire pack of chocolate brioches that they had managed to finish within two hours, before the cheerful, carefree figure of a middle-aged man entered the room. 

"Hi daddy," she said by snapping from the kitchen to the living room in no time. 

Her father placed a huge bag on the floor and smiled at her as he hung his jacket on an old woodenhanger. Immediately afterwards his wife, a slender, straight-haired woman, appeared in the room.

They must not have noticed Aomine, because when they turned around, they both had a little surprised spasm. 

"Oh, Daiki!" exclaimed Mrs. Momoi with her shrill voice that had always been dear to him. "Darling, I'm sorry I didn't notice you." 

"And it's not like it’s so hard to see you," added her husband with his good-natured laugh. 

"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Momoi," he replied. 

"Oh, stop being so cordial. How many times have I told you to call me Nobuyo?" she protested. She took a few steps forward and came to squeeze his cheek, though she had to tiptoe up to do so. Aomine met Momoi's amused gaze and in response he threw her a death stare. She simply shook her shoulders. 

"Will you stay for dinner with us, boy?" Momoi's father continued, unaware of the exchange of glances that was taking place between Aomine and his daughter. 

He hesitated uncomfortably. But the trouble of finding an excuse was spared him by Satsuki's arrival. 

"I don't think so, dad. He has to go home." 

"Another time," said Mrs. Momoi as she frowned. "You know how glad we are to have you here." Then she pinched his cheek one more time and with a surprisingly graceful pace made her way to the kitchen, immediately followed by her husband. 

"They still treat you like you're seven," laughed Momoi once sure she couldn't be heard by her parents. 

Aomine brought a palm to the part of his skin he still felt tightened and rubbed it in embarrassment. Mr. and Mrs. Momoi had always treated him like a second son. Yet even after nine years he found it difficult to find the right words to talk to them. 

"You're just jealous," he replied, resuming his usual bored and distracted manner. "Because I've always been their favorite." 

"You can keep them," she mumbled. 

He looked at the clock again. He should have been home an hour ago. He hesitated for a moment but without saying another word he picked up his hoodie from an armchair and headed for the exit. Behind him Momoi reminded him of the meeting they had set for the next day with the others, so that they could have their first training session together. 

"At two o'clock," she said, placing her hands on her hips and staring at him with a serious look. "I don't want to find you still asleep at that hour." 

"You' re so boring, Satsuki." 

" _Dai-chan,_ " she scolded him. 

"I'll be there, I'll be there," said Aomine, always without trying to change his careless tone of voice. "Why do you care so much?" 

"You needn't even ask. And besides, Ki-chan will be waiting for us in front of the station, so we can go together." 

Aomine looked darkly at her. "Why do we have to go with him?" 

"Don't start acting nasty," Momoi said angrily. "And make sure you're on time." And just to emphasize her lack of patience, she snapped the door in his face. 

Aomine grimaced and turned towards the avenue. 

His house wasn't far away. He and Satsuki lived just a few feet away. When he was a child, he often saw her riding a tricycle in front of his kitchen window, her long peach-colored hair inevitably attracting attention. He took to walking down the street, looking at the cars coming in his direction. From the open windows of the houses there was a noise of excited voices and televisions on, all tuned to the evening news. Aomine listened to the reportage of a helicopter that had risked crashing into Tochigi Prefecture, then the divorce of a famous actress with an equally famous actor and then, when it came to the usual cookery section, stopped paying attention. Now he could see the outline of his house just ahead. He closed his eyes for a moment, reclining his head towards a clear sky, now flaming, and after a long breath, he took the last few meters that were missing and went through the gate that bounded the property of his house. 

He opened the door. The rooms were shrouded in silence except for the sound of dishes being used. If he had done it quickly enough, he could have passed the living room and jumped immediately upstairs into his room without anyone noticing his presence. Sure of his feline step he thought he had almost succeeded, but just before he could put a palm on the handrail, he was stopped by a low, scratched voice. 

"You're finally back." 

He froze. 

He was in trouble, and he knew it. He'd have to face a scolding and pay the price for his insolence even if he kept going straight. He jumped at the idea of doing just that in spite of everything, but he realized that disobeying would only add more fuel to the fire, so he turned around and retraced his steps and entered the kitchen. 

The light was dim and the bulb hanging in the middle of the ceiling sometimes flickered. They had had to change it for months, but no one had ever found the time or the will to do so. Aomine focused his gaze there once he entered the room, though his eyes were covered in black dots. Every muscle in his body seemed to contract and he felt a feeling of frost at the base of his stomach. 

"Is this the time to come home?" 

He put his hands in his pocket where he began to play with a piece of lint. He would pass it from his thumb to his index finger and then between the knuckles of the other fingers, starting the cycle again once it had crossed his entire hand. He felt he had to concentrate on something mechanical so as not to explode like an unvented pressure cooker. 

"Your mother's been cooking all evening," the scolding continued. A shadow then moved from the back of the room and moved forward in small steps, reaching the table to rest a baking dish of cooked vegetables on it. Its tiny, emaciated figure wrapped in dark clothes seemed to disappear into the dark spots. 

"Hello mom," simply said Aomine, now directing his attention to her. Her mother replied the greeting by moving her head imperceptibly. She met his eyes. 

"Are these the right manners?" continued the man at her side. The desire to throw himself forward and punch him right in the face was so strong that he was amazed at his self-control. His mother's tension was a remarkable detonator. "Naoki, you should say something to the boy. In my time, my father would have pulled out his belt by now." 

Naoki shifted her eyes to both the men and bit her lip; for a moment she seemed to be hesitant, as if trying to come up with a speech that would confirm what was required of her, but she immediately gave in to the evidence that she didn't want to continue the torment. 

"It's the adolescence," she said with a sigh. "Daiki, why don't you sit down and eat?" 

"I ate at Satsuki's," he lied in a defiant tone. He wouldn't start a fistfight there in their living room to respect his mother's wishes, but at the same time he wasn't going to spend an entire dinner ignoring that annoying ringing in his ears that he heard whenever that man was within a few feet of him. 

"You should have called. Your mother wouldn't have cooked so much food knowing you weren't coming." 

"It's not that much," Naoki spoke softly. She seemed exhausted. 

"What difference does it make?" he replied. He saw Naoki give him a plea, but he didn't listen. "You can do as you always do and eat for three." 

The atmosphere changed as if a storm had suddenly materialized in their living room. Naoki shouted _"Iwao"_ and leaned forward to grab Iwao's arm, which had been thrown up so hard that it knocked the knife and fork to the ground. His mother's iron grip had immobilized him before he could reach Daiki and hit him. The scene froze. Aomine had taken his fists out of his pockets and now held them tightly by his side. He exchanged an icy, resentful, defiant look with Iwao, but his mother's trembling voice asking them to stop made him give up. He turned around, seeing – out of the corner of his eyes - only Iwao's palm raised and his look full of resentment and wrath. He reciprocated with just as much hostility before leaving the living room and taking the steps two by two. 

In his bedroom, he leaned his back against the wall and breathed deeply. It had been a long time since he lost control. Usually, when Iwao was at home, they kept ignoring each other, and if Iwao sometimes broke that tacit law, he would listen without opening his mouth. The consequences of his replies had never led to anything good. 

He reached his bed and jumped into it. The cell phone left in his trouser pocket pressed against his thigh, but he didn't care. A ray of light had infiltrated through the window curtains, cutting the room in half and ending at the foot of his closet covered with NBA posters. He looked at them out of the corner of his eye for a moment. Now he felt an incalculable urge to go play basketball. 

He put his hand under the bed and slid his ball out. He rolled cautiously on his back and started spinning it on the tip of his right index finger. Watching it swirl and being able to keep it from falling gave him some peace. Basketball had always been his form of anchorage. 

He allowed himself to release a sigh. He got away with it again. But he knew that sooner or later he wouldn't be able to hold back and that among the three of them especially his mother would be hurt. However, no matter how much he loved her, he didn't think he could become mature enough to endure that situation for much longer. But now he had to come to terms with her disappointment. 

He passed the ball in the other hand and kept it running with the same dexterity. As he watched it swirl, he could still see the drawings Momoi had made on it with an indelible marker, with the sole justification of wanting to upset him. She was the one who had given him that ball and until a few months ago - until the game with Tetsu, clarified his conscience - he had never even touched it. Yet it seemed to him that an eternity had passed since that time. 

Two light knocks on the door suddenly awakened him from his thoughts, making him lose his concentration. The ball trembled at the tip of his finger and fell to the ground with a dry thud. 

"Daiki?" Naoki walked in almost without making a sound. 

He watched his mother gather the basketball from the ground and hold it in her hands looking absorbed. In the half-light she looked like a porcelain doll that could be shattered into a thousand pieces at the slightest draught. She had never seemed so delicate as at that moment, while on the threshold of the door a hornet's nest of thoughts was tormenting her about what to do, about the right things to say. What did those famous Hollywood movie moms do? Aomine was sure that's what her mother was thinking about, now that she had decided to take a few steps forward. In the movies, every disagreement was solved with an open-breasted conversation. A handful of sentences, a lesson about life that a teenager can't yet understand, and a warning for his mistake. That was the perfect script. 

Naoki was just that kind of person. She was shaped by her work. Since he was a child, she'd talked to him in platitudes. The nurse at a nursing home who was in her had made the condescension a distinctive trait of her personality. He couldn't remember the last time he spoke to her for advice. 

"You should behave better with him." 

There it is. The reprimand first. He considered answering her, but he didn't. His conscience prevented him to pile on further, because no matter how much acid he felt boiling in his stomach, he couldn't see her face painted with sadness again. 

He heard her sigh. "You guys would get along fine," she continued in a gentle tone. "If only you gave him a chance." 

In response, he simply shrugged. 

He saw her shaking her head, making her trembling gaze wander over the cluttered room. She was the one who found him all those posters of LeBron, Michael Jordan, James Harden, Kobe Bryant. In a past where they thought they still knew each other... 

When she spoke again, her voice was veiled with suffering. "I just want us to be a family." 

The anguish twisted like a skein of worms in his lower abdomen. He played with a hangnail from the index finger of his right hand. 

"Daiki?" she continued. She took a few more steps until she reached the base of the bed and there she slid on the sheets the ball that she had held between her palms until then. "Do you know I love you?" 

"I know," he was surprised to answer. He loved her, too. She was one of the few people in the world he'd throw himself in front of a moving truck if he had to. 

His mother smiled with a small, well-hidden smile. She leaned forward to rest her hand on his forehead and he felt as if he had regained his six-year-old self. That everything was as perfect as it had been. And then, she pulled away and straightened up. 

"How's Satsuki?" she asked. He knew she didn't really care, but that question put a point to what had happened just before and for Naoki it represented the success of her speech. 

"She's as she always is," he replied laconically. He had tightened his shoulders, staring up at the immaculate ceiling. 

"Well, I'm glad." Then, in the absence of any more hints on his part, she leaned forward again to touch her lips on his temple, as she used to do years before, and finally surrendered to the evidence that there was nothing more to be said. She went back and took the door handle between her fingers. Before closing it, however, she turned again towards him and gently added: 

"Dinner's in the fridge, you can microwave it whenever you want." 

He remained silent, staring at the specter of her presence long after she was gone. 

* 

The next day over a cup of milk and oatmeal he felt better. The night before he hadn't been able to sleep properly and all the frustration, anger and annoyance now kicked in to be vented. Momoi had worried that he wouldn't get up in time for practice, but Aomine had spent the entire morning hoping that two o'clock in the afternoon would arrive as quickly as possible. Only marginally did he realize that it had been years since a simple practice had given him such a feeling of anticipation. 

But by the time they arrived at the designated court, the sky had become gray. The weather seemed to get worse and worse. 

"It's not a good omen," Kise noted. 

"Perhaps it would be better if I booked a gym for the next few times," Akashi said when the wind had gotten so strong that even one of Kuroko's passes could not arrive precisely. No one was particularly surprised that Akashi could even consider booking an entire gym just for their practice, but everyone agreed that it would be impossible to get organized if one had to pay attention even to the weather. 

Eventually they were forced to abandon the idea of having a decent game and as he returned to the benches with a clot of discontent planted in his chest, Aomine noticed that the sole of his right shoe seemed loose. It was as if fate had been laughing in his face for a few days. 

"You should buy a new pair," Momoi noticed, extending a fresh water bottle. 

"I don't have good shoes for training," he agreed. Not since middle school, at least. 

Kise, who was putting on a black sweatshirt next to them, turned to look at them. 

"Tomorrow I have to go downtown to buy some things," he said, but couldn't finish the sentence, because Momoi had jumped up. 

"Then we'll go together," she decided with an impulse that if Aomine didn't know better, he would have judged a little over the top. But Momoi had been exposing her cheerfulness for weeks to the thought that they would all see each other more often, and Aomine found himself trapped when both she and Kise turned to him and stared at him with an intensity that, he felt, did not allow him to reply. 

He had the feeling he didn't have a say in the matter. 

"Don't make decisions for me too, Satsuki," he protested. 

"Dai-chan, it'll be fun!" 

"We haven't had a chance since that time Momocchi had to go shopping for her date with Kurokocchi," Kise added. 

That _time_ he didn't remember having so much fun. 

Momoi's lips hatched in a half-sneer... Aomine knew that smile all too well. "If you accept, I'll buy you all the food you want, what do you say?" 

Aomine gave her a look that was full of irritation, but then he sighed. What could go wrong, after all? 

"Geez... I guess there's nothing to do," he gave up. 

"Then it's settled," Kise said, putting his clothes back in his sports bag. "Tomorrow we'll go together!" 

* 

"I think we lost her," Kise said, resting both hands on his bent knees and breaking the rhythm of his heavy breathing. He took one last, deep breath, before returning to his upright position and looking around with an absorbed expression. 

Aomine let himself slip into a wobbly chair. "This is all your fault." 

They were in the only bar they had found empty at the end of the street, hidden in a side alley shaded by other shops' signboards and curtains. The bar was small, poorly lit and had three or four tables available for customers, and the majority of them were businessmen in suits sitting with a glass of whiskey in front of them even though it was just after four o'clock in the afternoon. One of them was staring at them with confusion. 

"How's she going to find this place?" Kise continued, sitting next to him but keeping his eyes on the front door. 

Aomine looked at him sideways, bending his neck with his shoulders left on the backrest. "Satsuki can take care of herself." 

"I'm sending her a message," Kise sighed as he turned his eyes to the surroundings and looked critically at the place where they had ended. 

It was the third time they'd sneak into some random store to get away from the overexcited high school girls who noticed Kise's presence. About a quarter of an hour earlier they had been surrounded by a crowd of fans who had thrown themselves at them like lionesses at the sight of their afternoon snack. Even before they knew it, they had found themselves crushed in a corner of a shoe store and in the heel that had followed - between those who were clamoring for an autograph and those who went a little further, even daring to beg for a date - had lost sight of Momoi. Her hair had scattered in a river of wild heads, and he had found himself alone facing elbows in his hips and death stare that warned him to step aside, while at his side Kise followed the trail of his escape route, ceaselessly repeating some evasive _"pardon me"_ and _"I'm flattered, but I have to go"_ which, however, seemed to have the opposite effect. 

They had only managed to extricate themselves from that skein by starting to run, only to slip into a deserted side road and hide there, in that little wasabi peanut-smelling hole. 

Behind the counter towered a middle-aged man with a particularly visible receding hairline and two frightening deep dark circles under the eyes. He was passing a rag over a glass that seemed to get even more dirty because of the continuous repetition of that action. Aomine brought a hand in front of his face and rubbed his nose. There was something strange in the air, like a kind of sooty dust. He wondered when it was the last time someone had picked up a broomstick and cleaned the place up: at the edges of the windows and in the corners of the walls you could see huge cobwebs and under the sole you could feel the dust grains scraping the floor. 

He tightened his lips thinking that he could have been in his bed, comfortably wrapped in blankets, reading a manga and spending a quiet Sunday, instead of there, together with Kise, who had started giggling quietly and saying, "That was scary." 

It had been a mistake to leave his house. He had had a hunch that morning but had been too careless to listen. 

"I knew I shouldn't have come today," Aomine said toneless. He tried to make his impatience pass through his eyes, but Kise was already doing an evasive hand gesture. 

"Sorry, sorry," he replied with a sincerity that would not deceive even the naivest of people. "That's not usually like this, they can be kinder. Well, to be honest, there aren't usually _that_ many," he said, scratching his throat. 

He shrugged and then Aomine saw him frown and an alarmed expression was painted on his face. In a moment he thought back to the crowd from which they had just escaped. Had they been able to find them there too? In that place abandoned by God and by the health checks? He turned around to the entrance with the fear that he could see behind the faded curtain attached to the door some faces stuck to the glass, but everything was calm. 

"I think..." Kise explained. "I think one of them managed to kiss me on the cheek without me noticing." 

"Die." 

Aomine turned his eyes to the ceiling, with that familiar irritation that was part of the game, though personally he would have liked to choke him with that tiny little scarf he wore around his neck _for fashion, Aominecchi._

They were interrupted by the bartender who came out the back of the bar and walked towards them. He was tall, thin and looked terribly bored. 

"Well, would you like to order something?" he mumbled. Then, after a moment of reflection, he added, "I don't sell alcohol to minors." 

"A melon soda and a banana milkshake," Kise replied irritated, neither questioning him nor looking away when the bartender gave him a derisive look. 

"That's what you always get, isn't it?" he murmured slyly when the bartender turned around to go prepare their order. 

Aomine swung balanced on two of the chair's supporting legs. Banana milkshake _was_ actually his favorite drink. 

"When we were in middle school, you always stole it from me," Kise explained, resting his chin on the palm of his hand in response to his inquisitive gaze. "You never left me a drop," he complained. 

"It's good," Aomine shrugged. "It tastes better than melon soda." 

"It's not a competition," laughed Kise. 

The bartender came back with their things. Kise's soda looked like it had just come out of a freezer and Kise’s face got all curly when he took his first sip. Instead, aomine drank half his milkshake at once. 

"Which Jordans did you choose in the end?" Kise asked curiously. 

Before they ended up where they are now, he was just in time to visit the Foot Locker and buy the new shoes he needed (and the ones that were still missing from his collection - too big a collection, according to his mother) and not even asking, he had chosen Air Jordans. 

"The XX2 black ones," he replied in an absent tone. He touched with his ankle the bag placed by his side, but he must have done it with too much strength because it rolled down and the things he bought slipped out. 

They both bent over to pick up the shoebox and the T-shirts that had scattered on the dusty parquet floor. Something between the folds of the tracksuits caught Kise's attention. Aomine saw him leaning over to pick up a magazine. It was the monthly magazine in which Mai-chan appeared - his favorite idol and the representation of his perfect woman. Her thin, white face was printed on the cover. 

"Eh, I didn't know you were such a big fan of mine, Aominecchi!" Kise exclaimed, returning to the chair. 

"Huh?" he grunted. 

Kise held the newspaper, his newspaper, between his fingers, which he hadn't yet been able to flip through. If he ruined it... 

"This is the new issue of Mai-chan's photoshoot." 

"I also appear on this magazine!" said the other, turning the pages, eyes moving from left to right in search of something. "See!" He pushed the magazine right in front of his face; it almost grazed the tip of his nose. Aomine followed the trajectory of Kise's index finger, which marked two huge photographs in which he posed dressed as one of those J-pop band members. He also seemed to be wearing a thin layer of eyeliner. He didn't know why, but those photographs made him feel vaguely unstable. 

"You know, they elected me _perfect boyfriend_ for the fifth time," he pointed out. "Do you want me to sign it?" 

"What am I supposed to do with your signature?" And - the _perfect boyfriend_? Aomine doubted that Kise could even enter the competition. To do so, he would have to have changed a lot since Teikou's days. 

"You don't look like a prosperous woman to me," he said mightily. "Much less Mai-chan." 

"You're really fixated." 

"Of course! Horikita Mai-chan is perfect." 

"If you like her so much, I might even introduce her to you," Kise pondered. 

"Don't joke about it, Kise." 

"We work for the same agency." He pointed to the paper again. "Although she normally appears in magazines, well, let's say different. But lately her shots are fixed after mine. I happen to pass her in the hallway sometimes." 

Aomine blinked. 

"I think she'd be happy if I introduced her to a fan," Kise continued, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just offered on a silver platter to let him meet his dream idol. 

"You're serious." 

"Yes," he said, badly hiding a half-lipped smile. "This is the first time I've ever seen you so excited about anything other than basketball." 

"You don't understand..." 

"Anyway, just come and see me after work sometime, and leave the rest to me!" 

But before Aomine could reply, the bar door opened. A large ray of dusty light made its way into the dark room and then disappeared, obscured by the profile of the person who had just entered. Momoi took a few steps forward as she looked around the place with an expression of perplexity, but when she laid her eyes on them, her gloomy face lit up. 

"You finally made it, Momocchi!" Kise greeted her. 

"What kind of place is this!" she said, lowering her tone of voice so as not to be heard by all those around who were staring at them. 

"This is Kise's fault, again," Aomine said rudely. 

"I already apologized," Kise complained in reply. 

Momoi shifted her gaze from one to the other and then with a sigh told them that perhaps it was better to leave. 

"I'm so hungry," she said. 

So Aomine finished his milkshake in one gulp and, after paying, they left the place, heading north to a famous bakery that Kise promised would be _stratospheric_ \- and where he was determined to redeem the promise Momoi had made to him the day before. 

As they walked down the street through the park and heard what had happened to Momoi during the time she had disappeared, Aomine found himself thinking that if he agreed to meet Mai-chan, he would automatically agree to meet Kise again. And within two weeks, that would be the fourth time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We haven't had a chance since that time Momocchi had to go shopping for her date with Kurokocchi," --> I mean the Kuroko no Basket S2 Vol.6 Drama CD you can find in english on Tumblr.


End file.
